I am in awe of the talent on display in the Slices I’ve read over the past two days. I’m sorry to say I’ve only read a small portion of the many posted. Be sure to visit Stacey and Ruth and their Two Writing Teachers blog for links to all this amazing writing.
In her “March Manifesto,” Christy Rush-Levine shared that “writing begets writing.” This is undoubtedly true, but I also think that reading begets writing. When I read Melanie Meehan’s thoughts about her father coming along for the ride when she goes out to do errands, I was reminded of the drives my family used to take when I was little.
I grew up in rural Connecticut in the 1960s. I know we didn’t have a ton of money, but I never lacked for anything I needed or wanted. We never went on vacation, but, because I’d never been on one, I didn’t know I was supposed to want to go. Instead, we went for drives. On Sunday afternoons, after my sister and I climbed into the back seat of our 1965 Chevelle (no car seats or seat belts to be buckled!), my parents settled into the front seats and off we’d go.
We drove the narrow, windy back roads past woods, ponds, and pastures filled with cows. I loved looking out the window at all there was to see. I remember when one of the first “developments” was being built in the town next to ours. We drove through looking at all the raised ranches in various states of completion. I think we even went in and explored some of the half-built houses.
Sometimes we’d stop and visit friends, or go to one of the two stores in the area that were open on Sunday. Both had a limited selection of toys, and I usually came home with a coloring book or some small treasure.
Those small trinkets are long gone. Looking back, I realize the real treasure was the time with my parents. They both worked hard during the week and looked forward to these drives as much as I did. As we got close to home, I’d lie down on the seat and close my eyes. Feeling the twists and turns of the road, I’d try to guess where we were, willing the car homeward.